


Dawn

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-09-07
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7977979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked —<br/>Would you write a small drabble about Leia finding out about her pregnancy and possibly about seeing baby Ben for the first time? :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dawn

She won’t bother with the “at-home pregnancy tests.” Han can be oblivious to most things, but he’d almost certainly notice something like that. Not like she trusts them, anyway. No, if she wants confirmation, she’ll visit a doctor. (Not that she needed it, really. She can sense the child’s presence long before any medical test can. ) But, as Han has pointed out many, many times, she can’t rely on the Force for every matter.

So she visits a doctor of Mon Mothma’s recommendation (Leia doesn’t breathe a word of her suspicions, but she has a feeling she knows anyway). Threepio accompanies her, because she knows he can keep a secret, even if Artoo does his best to pry. The visit itself is a blur; the sight of needles laying around nonchalantly throws her off considerably. (Eight years, it’s been now, and she still flinches when she feels a hand brush against her shoulder.)

 

Han’s nowhere to be found when they return home, and she isn’t certain if it’s relief or disappointment she feels. She flops into a chair, Threepio opposite her.

"I’m pregnant, right?" Silly question, but she’s compelled to ask it anyway.

"Well, yes, Mistress." The chirp in his voice has never aggravated her more than it does now, but she doesn’t comment on it. "Didn’t you hear Dr. Kalonia? You’re approximately fifteen days into your pregnancy, and I must congratulate you."

"Thanks," she mumbles, and without another word, she lurks off to the bedroom, leaving the droid effectively bewildered.

 

Han comes home late. Not a surprise. He’s thankful that she’s never minded. The perks of having a wife as free-spirited as himself.

But she’s in bed, which _is_ a surprise. It knots his stomach slightly, and he’s careful when he approaches her. She’s not asleep; instead, her eyes are wide open and fixated on the wall. Okay. More normal, but still of concern.

"Hey," He sighs, hand reaching out to find hers, fingers lacing into her own. Hers don’t move.

She manages a reply, though. "Hey."

He won’t ask _are you okay?_ Because he knows he won’t get a direct answer. He’s guilty of that, too, but it still bothers him. Instead, he arches a single brow in question.

Leia’s gaze lifts to him, and she answers. "I’m fine."

He doesn’t buy it. Of course he doesn’t. "No, you’re not," he exhales, giving her hand a slight squeeze. "If you were fine, you’d be yellin’ somethin’ about how I need to shower before I sit on the bed, or the grease on my pants will stain the comforter."

"You need to shower before you sit on the bed, or the grease on your pants will stain the comforter." Her voice is dry, flat, unachieving of the humor she’s trying to go for.

"I know." The corners of his lips tilt into a hint of a smirk, but he’s still uneasy. "Tell me what’s wrong."

"Nothing’s wrong." _There’s_ the trademark Leia Organa-Solo denial he’s been waiting on.

"Fine. Tell me what you’re thinkin’."

"I’m thinking that I’m pregnant."

She’s only seen Han Solo pull this face a handful of times in her life. It’s somewhere between confusion and despair, but in this case, more of the former.

"So you’re thinkin’ you’re pregnant," he repeats, lips pursed into a thin line.

"Well, I am."

"Okay." A long pause punctuates his speech, and even she, still in a slight state of shock, notices the way his fingers loosen their grasp. "Were you plannin’ on tellin’ me this, Leia?"

He’s angry. He doesn’t know it yet, but she’s one step ahead of him. Always is.

"I only found out today." Her tone is sharp, bordering on defensive.

"Who else knows?" he asks, eyes still locked onto her as if reading into her blank expression. (It won’t work. Leia is a mystery. Always has been, always will be. It’s one of the things he likes best about her. Some days.)

"Threepio."

"You told the droid before me." A statement. Not a question. It stings.

"I didn’t tell him. He went to see Dr. Kalonia with me." she sighs, then, and her posture shifts until she’s sitting up entirely. She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her cheek atop them, eyes closing.

"Alright. That’s - that’s fine."

"Stop it," she whispers, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. He doesn’t even need to be told _what_ to stop.

The edge from his voice drops when he speaks again. "Do y'want a baby?"

 _Yes_. _No_. She needs a minute before she answers, and that’s okay with him.

"I do now."

He nods, and gently, a hand reaches across to tuck a lock of stray hair behind her ear. It’s enough affection to warm her up just enough for her body to relax.

"Then we’ll have a baby."

Her head tilts up to glance at him, to see if he looks angry or disappointed or sad or anything at all. Instead, there’s a cast of tenderness reflected in his eyes.

"Yeah, we will." she sighs. A moment of understood silence passes between them before she speaks again. She nudges her foot against his thigh, prodding him off the bed. "Go shower. Really."

She’s smiling now. Not the half-smile she displays when she wants to reassure him (usually to no avail), but a genuine one that softens them both.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, and when he obeys and heads off to the ‘fresher, she’s still smiling.

 

Months pass, and they’re considerably worse than leia has imagined. Shara has warned her, of course, but she isn’t a force user.

When the baby - Ben, they’ve named him, as suggested by Luke - kicks, it’s painful. It leaves a shock down her spine, shaking her very core, and more than once, it makes her scream. Naturally, Han is protective, more so than usual (it’s endearing at times, but more often than not, it drives her insane). He makes sure she’s eating at least three meals a day, getting enough sleep, all things he’s attempted to do even before the pregnancy. He offers to fill in for senatorial duties during her absence, but she adamantly refuses, for obvious reasons.

 

There aren’t any false alarms, much to Leia’s relief. When she’s ready, she knows immediately.

"Han?" she calls from her position under five or six blankets in the bedroom.

He doesn’t need to be a force sensitive to know what she’s going to say. "Can you walk?" he calls back, scrambling for the bag they’d packed weeks prior.

"Yeah." She’s trying, anyway. One hand on her swollen stomach, she makes her way out to him slowly, and even in his panic, Han manages to chuckle at her.

"What?" she demands, stopping in her tracks to shoot a glare in his direction.

"Nothin’," he mumbles, offering half of a weak shrug.

"How have I made it this long without strangling the stars out of you?" The question is merely prompted from pain, but when she asks it, she’s smirking ever so slightly.

"Hell if I know," he sighs, slinging the bag he’s finally found over his shoulder. "Let’s go."

 

She has endured blaster burns, assassination attempts, and a literal war, and nothing compares to childbirth, she learns. It’s brutal, and even Han looks pained.

"If it means anythin’ to you, you look absolutely radiant," he tells her in between shortening contractions.

Her forehead is dotted with sweat, hair rumpled in every direction, the hospital’s gown unflattering. "Shut up," she hisses, and he gets the message loud and clear.

He backs up with his hands raised in defense, but he can’t hold back a grin.

 

Hours later, the end is in sight.

No. Not the end. The beginning.

Her vision is foggy, but it clears up immediately when she hears the unmistakable sound of an infant’s crying.

"Leia," Han says under his breath, hand coming to rest on her arm. "Leia."

Before she can process any of it, a baby is offered to her. At first, she stares at the nurse, and only a nudge from Han beside her snaps her back to reality. She nods. Arms extended, she takes Ben.

He quiets as soon as he touches his head to her chest, and it astounds her. She’s speechless, a rare occurrence for her, but she does manage a hint of a smile. She won’t tear her gaze away from Ben to see Han, but she imagines he’s grinning too.

"Hi," she whispers down to her son. It’s too early for him to open his eyes yet, but she likes to think he can see her somehow anyway. "It’s nice to see you."

She thinks Han says something in addition, but she can’t figure out what. Doesn’t care to, really. All she focuses on is Ben.

 

It’s a cliche, but like all cliches, it’s the truth: her galaxy starts to revolve around Ben. She feels at peace for the first time since Force knows when they bring him home and he falls asleep in her arms. The only times she lets Han hold him is when she finally sleeps herself. Selfish, maybe, but she’s earned the right.

"Sweetheart?" Han mumbles one night, leaning over her shoulder to glance down at Ben.

"Yes?" she doesn’t lift up her head.

"You’ve gotta put him down someday, y'know," he teases, dropping a brisk kiss to her temple. "He’s gotta learn to crawl. Then to walk. All that."

"I’m never putting him down," Leia responds quietly.

It’s not an intentional exaggeration, not the words of an overprotective mother. A promise.


End file.
